Girl, 11

by Amy Suiter Clarke

  “I’m not saying it’s definite, but Leo’s chop shop being used to get rid of the abduction vehicle adds another thread that wasn’t there before. The connection between the three cases shouldn’t be disregarded. If we’re going to convince the police it’s TCK, we need to have an answer for why he has suddenly struck again.”

  Elle chewed the corner of her lip, fingers wrapped in Martín’s T-shirt. “What about Amanda, though? She wasn’t connected to me, not really. There’s no way he could have known her parents would ask me to consult on the case.”

  “I was thinking about that earlier. What if Natalie was his target all along, but she was too young? He had to take Amanda first, because she was the right age, but Natalie was the one he wanted.”

  Hearing the words made her feel sick. “But why now?” she asked, feeling as though she was echoing the questions Ayaan or Sam would ask if she told them Martín’s idea. “Why not wait another year until Natalie turned eleven? TCK is nothing if not patient. He’s waited twenty years—what’s one more? Plus, like you said, Ayaan doesn’t even think the cases are connected. She said Amanda’s seems planned and perfectly orchestrated, while Natalie’s looks like it was just a crime of opportunity.”

  “Maybe it’s like you said before, then. That he planned for her to walk home.”

  She sat up and turned on the lamp next to her side of the bed. They squinted at each other in the golden light. “But how?”

  “I don’t know. Something out of the ordinary did happen. Her piano teacher wasn’t home. As far as I know, police still don’t know where Ms. Turner went. If TCK knew she wouldn’t be there, if he planned it somehow, he might have known Natalie would leave on her own to go home.”

  “But he couldn’t have known that she would, or that I wouldn’t answer my phone when she called.”

  Martín was quiet again while her mind darted around, trying to string the story together. He could be right. If TCK was watching carefully, he could have done everything Martín just said.

  “Again, though, why now?” she asked.

  Her husband looked up at her, his eyes burning. “Something happened, something that triggered him to act sooner than he’d planned.”

  She stared at him, afraid of what he would say next.

  “You.”

  Tears flooded her eyes.

  “You’re working to expose him, Elle. You have made more progress on this case than anyone in the last twenty years. Your podcast is reaching hundreds of thousands of new people with this story. He’s coming after you because, otherwise, he knows you’re going to catch him.”

  She’d opened her mouth to respond when the sound of their doorbell shattered the stillness of the house. His eyes widened, and she leapt out of bed. A glance at the digital clock showed it was 1:13 a.m. Elle reached into her nightstand, pulled out her handgun, and slid the cartridge in. Martín followed her out the bedroom door.

  They crept down the stairs. The window above the front door was glowing with the light of the motion-sensor bulb outside. She took a deep breath, trying to imagine who would come to their house this time of night. Maybe it was Sash, seeking comfort after two days of trying to deal with her missing daughter alone. Elle hoped so. She looked out the small window at the top of the door but couldn’t see anyone.

  Reaching for the door handle, she glanced back at Martín. He nodded, having grabbed an umbrella from their front closet. Not a great weapon, but better than nothing. She pointed the gun at the door and pulled down the handle, yanking it open.

  Fresh snow swirled into the house on an icy breeze. No one was standing there. But a small figure was slumped on their front step against the railing. Her hands and feet were bound together, not to keep her from moving, but as if to make her easier to carry, like a package. At the sight of Natalie’s bright yellow winter coat and furry brown boots, Elle clapped her hand over her mouth. The girl’s eyes were glassed over, staring up at them.

  Elle didn’t have her husband’s expertise, but she could tell Amanda Jordan hadn’t been dead for long.

  Part IV

  The Sacrifice

  33

  DJ

  1996

  Parties weren’t his thing, but DJ decided to attend Mitchell University’s mixer for “PhDs under 30” after being promised there’d be at least a few eligible young women there. He had dated on and off in the years since Loretta, but nothing lasted longer than a few weeks. Now that his free time was mostly spent with a bitter old man who only bothered to speak when he had something insulting to say, DJ was eager to get out of the house whenever possible. His father’s disability check helped pay for a part-time nurse, but other than that, DJ was responsible for his care in addition to his studies and the two jobs he needed to pay the medical bills. He was ready for a full night out for the first time since he’d moved back to Minnesota six months ago.

  He was disappointed to give up his place in Yale’s doctorate program to care for his father after the old man’s stroke, but there were benefits to finishing his degree at Mitchell. Here, at least, he was a big fish in a very small pond. People recognized him. The mixer was at a venue in downtown Minneapolis and open to all the local universities, but within five minutes of entering the room, he was greeted by no fewer than ten people. DJ smiled, shook hands speckled with pen ink, brushed his lips past rouged cheeks, inhaled the cheap colognes and perfumes favored by lifelong academics.

  “DJ, how are you?” A PhD candidate he recognized leaned in for an embrace, a smile stretched across her round face. DJ obliged, pressing his lips to her cheek. What did it say about him, he wondered, that this was the closest he’d come to intimacy with a woman in weeks? The last relationship he had was short, meaningless. Easily ended when he left Yale. He didn’t so much miss the companionship, but he could do with a warm body in his bed on a cold winter’s night.

  He pulled back with a smile to match hers, gave a shake of his head that he hoped looked adorably clueless. “I’m so sorry, I’ve just gone blank. Remind me of your name?”

  She giggled and shook her head too, a mutual agreement that he really was such an airhead. “Maggie Henderson! Remember, from the laundromat?”

  DJ smacked his forehead. “Of course! I remember now.” He did not, but it hardly mattered. “With the . . .”

  “Quarter that wouldn’t work, yes,” she nodded, edging closer. “You were so sweet to give me yours. I owe you.” Her eyebrows lifted in a way that stirred something in his gut.

  Now he could place her. The incident happened maybe six weeks ago, though he’d barely noticed her. He had his own washer and dryer at home, but the campus laundromat provided a good source of white noise when the library became too crowded. All the machines whirring and students silently waiting for the endless cycles to finish. It was a supremely underrated study space.

  “I was actually hoping to run into you here,” she continued.

  This brought a genuine smile to DJ’s face. As Maggie leaned against the wall behind her, he moved in closer, tilting his head slightly. “Oh, really? Why’s that?” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of bright red. He glanced in that direction and froze.

  There she was, like a vision from his nightmares.

  Loretta.

  Momentarily, DJ lost his balance and pitched forward, catching himself on the wall behind Maggie just in time. She shrank away from him, as if she saw something dangerous flicker in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, glancing at her before his eyes returned to Loretta. Without another word to Maggie, DJ straightened up and adjusted his tie. He watched as Loretta spoke to one of the faculty directors from Mitchell who had helped organize the event. The past four years had been kind to her, fleshing out the hollows in her cheeks, although she had shadows under her eyes. The marks of an academic. She had cut her auburn hair into a short, edgy bob—something he never would have expected from the girl he fell in love with. But it suited her.

  Nerves buzzed across his ski
n, skittered around inside his ribs. Maybe this was his chance. He could show her how far he’d come, how much he’d accomplished since she left him. Regardless of her intent, her rejection had woken him up, focused his ambitions. Now he could prove she had made a mistake. If she was here, it must mean she had also gone on to do her doctoral studies, was also single.

  Shoulders back, DJ approached her. She was still wearing her bulky red coat, a testament to the frigid winter weather outside. When he was a few yards away, Loretta looked away from the man she was talking to, and her eyes lit up with an emotion DJ couldn’t decipher. He smiled, reached out his arms in what he hoped was a casual, friendly invitation for embrace. She let out a short, astonished laugh but stepped in for a hug. When she was pressed close to him, he felt it and stepped back, shocked.

  With his hands on her shoulders, DJ stared at her midsection. He hadn’t noticed with her coat on, but it seemed obvious now how much it stuck out. Heat flooded his neck and cheeks as his mouth dropped open. “I . . . Hi,” was all he could manage.

  Loretta offered a small smile. “DJ, hello. How are you?”

  “I’m fine,” he said, finally ripping his gaze away from her pregnant belly and back to her flushed face. “I’m sorry. This is a surprise.”

  “It was to me too,” Loretta said with a laugh. “Obviously I didn’t plan to have a baby while doing my PhD, but sometimes things happen, I suppose.”

  They do, he thought, if you are irresponsible. But it would do no good to tell her what she must already know. They had always been chaste with each other, never sharing more than a passionate kiss, due to their religious upbringings. Even though he had done plenty more since, the thought of her going farther with another man sent a flash of jealousy through him.

  Loretta shifted in front of him, scratched behind her right ear. “So, what are you doing here in Minnesota? Jenny told me you were at Yale.”

  DJ briefly filled her in on starting his program back East and the subsequent move to Minnesota after his father fell sick. She then explained that she had moved to Minneapolis shortly after graduation, having accepted a fellowship at the University of Minnesota. When she held up her left hand, a gold ring sparkled there. DJ’s heart clenched.

  “My husband is from here originally and wanted to be closer to family. It was a small sacrifice to make. The U of M has a great—”

  “You’re married?”

  Loretta blinked, her hand moving to cover her stomach. “Yes, of course.”

  “Why are you here, then?” Fury zipped through DJ’s veins like the aftershock of drinking strong coffee. “This is a singles event.”

  Lips tightening, Loretta leaned in and lowered her voice, as if to balance the sudden loudness of DJ’s. “This is a networking event, DJ.”

  “It’s disingenuous for you to take the space of a person who actually needs to meet people,” DJ said. “Some of us are actually here to meet fellow PhDs, not flirt with faculty representatives to get ahead.”

  For a moment, neither of them spoke. He wasn’t sure if everyone had frozen around them to watch the show, or if he just felt like the noise and motion in the room had stopped. He couldn’t look away from her pink cheeks, her obscene belly, her stupid whorish haircut.

  “You know, I had hoped you might change over time, but I can see that isn’t the case,” Loretta said, her voice even but firm. Her hands rested at her sides, opening and closing into fists. “What we had was good at the beginning, DJ. But after a while, I didn’t feel like you really saw me. You didn’t have any interest in me as a person, not really. Then I read that letter you wrote to your father, and everything became clear. I started noticing the way you spoke to your friends, and I got it. For you, people are either obstacles to your success or a means of achieving your goals. I was not going to be either.”

  “That is utter nonsense.” He hated how his jaw stiffened at her words, how they made his heart race with anger and embarrassment. “And I cannot believe you are doing this again. Humiliating me in front of dozens of people, again.”

  Loretta glanced around, as if just remembering they had an audience. His eyes followed hers. People stood in clusters around them, pretending to talk as glasses clinked and the jazz band played, but he could tell they were watching. Listening.

  Looking back at him, she drew her coat around her swollen stomach and folded her arms like a barrier. “I’m not sorry I left you. But I’m sorry I humiliated you. It was not my intention.”

  “‘It is better to dwell in a corner of a housetop, than in a house shared with a contentious woman.’” DJ clenched his jaw. “I pity your husband.” Avoiding the gaze of his colleagues, he left the room and ran out into the cold winter night.

  He stalked down the sidewalk, sucking in deep breaths of frosty air until his chest burned. His coat had been left behind, but the rage coursing through his blood dulled the cold. After walking aimlessly for a while, he finally turned and headed in the direction of his car. The night was overcast, the dark sky heavy with clouds ready to burst with snow. A storm was coming, and he wanted to be home before it hit. The first flakes were starting to come down by the time he reached his station wagon and got the engine running. DJ pulled out of his parking space and onto the road.

  A slight figure passed in front of his car, and he slammed on the brakes as the person jumped back, hands flying to their chest. Pulse skyrocketing yet again, DJ leapt out of the driver’s seat and opened his mouth to start yelling when he saw the person’s pale face, stained with tears above his scarf. It was one of the boys from a class he TA’d for.

  “DJ?” the young man asked, drawing out the vowel sound. “Whoa, you almost hit me. I didn’t see you coming at all.”

  DJ took a step toward him. “Sorry about that. I pulled out of my space pretty fast there. Are you all right? It’s Kerry, isn’t it?”

  Kerry nodded, body shivering. “Yes. And yeah, I’m fine.” He turned and started to walk again.

  “Wait!” The word left DJ’s mouth before he had time to think about it. When Kerry looked back at him, he pointed to his car, the driver’s side door still hanging open. “Do you want a ride? It’s way too cold to be walking.”

  Kerry glanced at his car, then shrugged. “Sure, thanks. Freezing my nuts off out here.”

  Once they were both buckled in, Kerry gave DJ directions to his apartment, and they were off into the night again.

  Several moments passed in silence. Kerry adjusted himself in the passenger’s seat, pulled his scarf down, wiped an ungloved hand across his face.

  Finally, DJ said, “So, why were you out walking? Cold night for a stroll.”

  Kerry’s laugh was bitter. “You could say that. Uh, my girlfriend dumped me, actually.”

  Hands tightening on the steering wheel, DJ slowed the car. “Really?”

  “Yeah.” Kerry cleared his throat—a deep, guttural sound. “It’s fine. I’m fine. She’ll come around, I’m sure. Just overreacting to a stupid fight.”

  “Right.” DJ licked his lower lip. At a stoplight, he turned to look at the younger man. “You’re better off without her, trust me.”

  Kerry met his gaze in the dim, reddish glow. His eyes were wet, but no more tears were falling. DJ could count on one hand the number of men he’d seen weep in his lifetime, and the sight made him uncomfortable.

  “I love her.”

  “She obviously doesn’t love you.”

  The light turned green, and DJ pressed down on the accelerator. Kerry turned away from him, looking out the window.

  “I’m sorry if that’s harsh, and I know it’s none of my business, but trust me. I’ve been where you are, and it’s not worth it.” DJ thought of Loretta tonight, defiant and swollen with another man’s child. She would have given him nothing but trouble.

  “This is it,” Kerry said when they rounded the corner, but DJ did not slow down. “Hello? You passed my apartment.”

  DJ stared out the windshield, speeding up.

  “Hey,
man, what are you doing? Take me back there.” When DJ didn’t listen, Kerry grasped the door handle and opened it.

  The car swerved as DJ tried to pull over, but Kerry was already out the door by the time his station wagon slid into the curb. Rage zipping through him, DJ jumped out of the driver’s seat and followed him.

  Kerry was clearly hurt from the fall, limping as he tried to run across the icy sidewalk back toward his apartment. DJ stalked after him, unsure what he planned to do. He had to find a way to stop this, get through to him. He couldn’t watch another man make the same mistakes he did, let a stupid woman who didn’t know his worth tear his life apart.

  Within a few seconds, DJ had caught up and run around to stand in front of Kerry on the sidewalk. He was taller than the boy, stronger too. Even with the bulky coat, Kerry was slender—weak. It was no surprise this girl had left him, hurtful as it might be.

  “Seriously, what the fuck is going on?” Kerry was breathing hard, hunched over to rub his right leg where he’d rolled out of the moving car. “Why are you being so weird?”

  “I’m just trying to get through to you, Kerry!” DJ took a step forward. If he could just get the boy to look up at him, look up to him, maybe he would understand. “You’re in your last year, and I’ve seen you in class. You have so much potential. Let that stupid bitch go and live your life.”

  In a second, Kerry had straightened up and then there was a fist swinging toward him. DJ blocked it easily and shoved the boy, who fell backwards. DJ stood over him and then crouched down, pinning his arms on the ground and sitting on his chest, the way his brothers had done to him when he was a child. To get him to stop, to get him to listen.

  But Kerry wasn’t listening. He was shouting, cursing, screaming, and any minute someone was going to come walking out or call the police. So DJ grabbed the boy’s throat, cutting the vile words off midstream. Kerry’s eyes went wide, hot with terror, and DJ felt something shoot through his abdomen—pleasure, power. He could fix this.